Dead Horse Point

 




 High above the Colorado River, Dead Horse Point (left picture) feels like the south rim of the Grand Canyon.  One difference is that on the edge of this mesa, one small step for man becomes one giant leap all the way to the river, two thousand feet below.  I walked several miles along the edge of eternity today and regretfully admit that acrophobia (irrational fear of height) is worse now than when I was younger.  

This goes against my preached philosophy that risk is less now because I have fewer years to lose.  I told myself to go closer to the edge because it’s the right thing to do.  My self did not comply.  Am I really so much animal that I cannot decide to change?  Perhaps by the end of this discourse you will see how I came to deal with dichotomy.

 

A penguin proud and pertly dressed has it all figured out.  No inner stress with him, no two ways about it.  

 

Old Man River, like a lot of folks, doesn’t think about it, but just keeps rolling along.

Delicate, fragile, stunning, just being, beauty without a brain, acting in all ways natural.

Can it be so hard to see, standing right in front, or is a saltbush blocking the view?

Are these the writings of intelligence, or are they like the arches?

Yes, I am listening.  I told you I’m listening.  Can it be there’s nothing to hear.

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